The Boy Who Lived Throughout the Night
by storylip
Summary: The morning of November 1st, when Petunia Dursley goes to get her husband's morning paper, she finds more than she bargained for. What is the state of the wizarding world, how does it affect Petunia and her new family, and what will she have to reveal to Vernon to keep them safe?


Harry Potter et al. is not mine. Obviously. Thank you, the estimable Ms. JK Rowling and associated print and distribution sources for letting me play with them all.

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"Vernon! Vernon, hurry! Someone's left a dead baby on the step!" Petunia Dursley cried to her whale of a husband. She covered her long, horse-like face, wide eyes peeking between her thin fingers.

"What the devil! Petunia, keep it down else the neighbors will hear," Vernon Dursley said, trying to squeeze his swollen weight around his reedy wife. "Quiet, now. Let me get the blasted thing away before anyone notices."

"Right…" Petunia began, stirring from her shock. She had just had a babe herself not too long ago. The thought of her poor Dudley, safe in his crib upstairs, frigid with autumn death like the child in front of her sent her mind reeling. Perhaps some miscreant had hoped that they would take the child in so the vagrant could be free of it. That or a horrid trick for Halloween; not that she wanted a treat from the degenerate, either. Hideous way to die, though – frozen stiff in the cold night air of early November. "Hide it round the bend so someone else can deal with it. Just get it away…"

"Yes, yes, dearest," he said, placatingly as he leaned over with his massive bulk. Just as he picked up the basket beside his morning paper, the child was unexpectedly jostled into wakefulness in its woven carrier. Surprised, Vernon, with all the grace of an elephant, startled. He dropped the apparently _alive_ infant's basket, upsetting the sleeping baby. Before either Dursley knew how to react, the child began to cry at its sudden fall onto their front stoop.

"Vernon! Vernon, do something. Make it stop," Petunia said, now more fully aware of the possible implications of finding a child on her doorstep. Glancing around, knowing the noise would soon draw unwanted attention, she pulled her husband, who had regained the basket with the squirming babe, back inside their entry hall. The door slammed shut behind them, followed by a resounding quiet.

"Silence," Vernon said sharply over the startled child before it could make any more noise. His harsh order was that of a terrified father who had only just gotten his own son to sleep through the night. "Here, take it. Keep it quiet before it wakes Dudley," he told his wife, pushing the freezing infant towards her.

She reached for the distressed child, noticing for the first time the labyrinthine wound to the child's chilled face, over his forehead, from hairline through brow to his cheek, over his right eye. She bounced the miraculous baby like she did her own in a fleeting hope that the infant would stay settled and warm. Afterall, the infant boy had incredibly survived hypothermia!

"Who would leave a baby on a stranger's front stoop in this cold? Is there any note? Anything?" she asked as the child slowly calmed in her arms, snuggling close.

"Doesn't look like…," Vernon said putting the empty basket down on the kitchen table before rummaging through it. "Hmm… Yes. Seems like some antiquated letter was stuck in with it," Vernon nodded to the thin envelop in his hand.

All at once, Petunia went still. She knew that script, that formal parchment, that pained air of worn rejection. It matched the one she had secreted away under the stairs with the other forgotten Evans' family heirlooms. She knew whom she held in her arms, just as she knew what the letter would most likely say. Her sister's child held onto her autumn robe as she suddenly pushed the boy away from her, holding him in outstretched hands as if the distance could spare her his freakishness. Harshly, she put the boy back into his makeshift crib, not caring an ounce that the wounded creature began to whimper at the rough treatment. She snatched up the letter, leaving her bemused husband to read around her loose curlers.

_Dear Petunia,_

_It saddens me to inform you of unfortunate news. As you know, due to our previous correspondence and interactions in your youth, there is a strict separation of our worlds. However, though you and your husband are muggles, it is vital that you be made aware of certain current events. _

_Primarily, it is with a heavy heart that I tell you last night, on the 31 October, your sister, Lily, and her husband, James Potter, were murdered. The wizard responsible for this act, Lord Voldemort, is unaccounted for, and therefore we must consider him still at large and dangerous. Additionally, since his unsuccessful attempt to kill the boy, as was his primary prophetic objective, we must assume the child is at risk if he were to stay in our world from his parents' murderer and Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters._

_Many will find the tale of last night as an end to the war, but I must warn against such. Heralding the deathly blast, evidenced by the remains of your sister's home, as a ceasefire may be premature. In hopes of erroring on the side of caution, your home has been warded for your protection. The enchantment will only stay in place as long as Harry James Potter continues to call number 4 Private Drive his home or until such time as he comes of age on his 17th birthday, in 16 short years on 31 July._

_If we take the events of last night into account, we can expect bouts of accidental magic from the boy. When this occurs, he must not be taught of his past, of his magic. If you need a respite from him, Ms. Arabella Fig at 9 Marigold Place is a Sqib resource you may wish to seek out. _

_With the situation in which we find ourselves, it is imperative that you keep the boy hidden from the magical world. To facilitate this heavy burden, given your non-magical predilections, it is within my power to grant you an allowance of 7,000 Galleons/year or 35,000 British pounds/year* paid quarterly to ensure the financial weight be lighter on your own growing family. Belated congratulations on your own son's birth. _

_Your part in this story is simple, Petunia. Keep the boy hidden from magic and all those associated therewith, and gain a substantial boon. If, for whatever reason, these terms are unacceptable, I will return and, let us say, 'modify' the arrangement to meet our needs._

_Condolences,_

_Albus Dumbledore _

Petunia Dursley slowly lowered the letter after having read it a dozen times. Her husband was gesticulating like an agitated walrus at her nonresponse. She could not take in his animated anger that he was being dictated to by some stranger. However, Petunia stood steady, watching her whirling thoughts frantically chase and crash with one another. She knew what the old Headmaster meant when he threatened to 'modify' the agreement. He meant to change their minds for them!

How had it all gone so wrong? She had known when Lily's letter arrived when they were young that everything was about to change. Petunia had even written the man, begging to be included in the strange new world her sister was getting ready to leave her behind for. Of course, she had known for years before that how it would go. How could she watch Lily do the things she could, especially after that Snape boy had told her these wild stories, and not know that Lily and those like her were different. Just as odd. Just as strange.

Petunia had at first tried to copy what she saw Lily perform – making plucked flowers bloom or keep herself dry in a rainstorm. All of it came to not. Petunia had known then, with the Headmaster's last letter sealing the ache to belong with her baby sister, that there was no way to change it. No way to make her sister hers again. Not after Lily left for that retched school. No way to reconnect after summers of weighted distance between them. No way to know her sister as she had been left behind over and over, every year, again and again.

Now three years after the last she had seen of her _Magical_ sister, Lily was dead. And it was all that Potter's fault! The overly cocky man who matched his spawn on her table. Every cowlick of black hair out of place, every expanse of his brown skin, just like the child's father. Not a piece of Lily anywhere to be found. Except the eyes – Lily's emerald green.

Petunia curled her arms around herself, thinking. She trembled at the loss of her sister, even though she had lost her years before. It was like the letter said – being with that Potter had been her sister's downfall.

Not only that, but she was stuck with her sister's brat as well. She knew what that meant, too – the boy would be just like his father, just like his mother. _Magical_. She thought it like a dirty word. For all she cared, it was.

"Did you hear me?" Vernon grunted between his teeth, still trying to keep enough silence for his baby boy upstairs to stay unaware.

"Hmm?" Petunia said, settling her attention on her husband's puce face.

"I said, 'we are not taking in the boy,'" he stamped, jiggling the flowers in the vase on the table by the makeshift crib. The child whimpered, but did not seek their attention, as if sensing their agitation. "I don't care how much of an allowance some crackpot is offering. Didn't you say your sister was already dead? How can she have had a child and then died again last night? Barmy, I tell you!"

"Vernon, dear," she began, taking a breath, "there is something you should know." She knew she had to convince her husband that magic existed, and they had to take the child in for their own safety. If Dumbledore was right and her sister's killer was on the loose, she and her family were prime targets.

"Don't tell me you believe this rubbish," he said, smacking the note laid forgotten on the table with his meaty hand.

"Vernon," she began again, trying to find the right words. Deciding to make a cuppa to busy her hands. "Vernon, there are things in this world that are not so easy to explain." He looked at her like she had lost her mind. She wasn't so sure he was wrong. "When we were girls, Lily could do these strange, freakish things. She could jump off a swing at the highest point and _float_ down to the ground. She could make things happen. Odd things."

He continued to watch her move about the kitchen, like he was about to interrupt her story, but she needed him to believe her. It wasn't some flight of fancy that all children dream up.

"Here, Vernon. Sit down while I tell you…" she guided him to the kitchen chair he preferred, "while I tell you what _very real danger_ we are in." Perhaps if she talked about the intentional things she had seen, the less fantastic and more frightening things, he might understand.

"Petunia, please. This is all just some passing jest… one of the neighbors must have cooked up some crazy story… to …" his voice rose in pitch with each unlikely addition. After all, to any normal English bloke, anything was more likely than that magic truly existed and that _Magical_ people were out there killing one another, threatening his morning tea.

"After a time," she continued as though he had not been spoken. She began assembling their morning tea "a little, poor boy from Spinner's End came to watch her. I noticed him outright. He was shabby and lanky, his clothes too big, wearing long sleeves in the summer.

"Anyway, he began to watch us, or rather, to obsess over Lily. He would sneak his way across a filthy river, from the dilapidated part of town, so that he could spy. His greasy hair and dark beady eyes would follow her. One day, he caught Lily doing it. Doing _magic_," she whispered, turning back to pace their kitchen. "And he finally came to call.

"She was mesmerized by all the odd things he told her he could do, too. He could make plants shrivel in his hand right after plucking them. He could make… Vernon, he could make water boil with a thought. He nearly burned Lily doing it. I tried to warn my parents of his influence, but they were just so happy when her letter came from that freaky school! 'There's a witch in the family! Isn't it wonderful?' they said, but I knew.

"She and that little Snape boy went off and were thick as thieves. Every summer between their hoity-toity boarding school – where they learned it all. Then she brought home that Potter fellow, and I knew he'd be just as odd and strange. Just as much of a _freak_! And now! Now they've gotten themselves _blown up_ by some murdering _Magical_!

"Vernon!" She rounded on him with fear in her eyes. "I don't trust Dumbledore, but he is risking a great deal in telling us what happened last night. And that child!" She pointed almost madly at her sister's legacy. "That boy is the key to keeping those maniacs at bay! Dumbledore set up some sort of protection I won't pretend to understand, but it will shield us from these… these _Death Eaters._ They will kill us and Dudley if they have the chance!" She tried to keep her voice down, but she was edging on hysteria. "Oh, my Dudley!

"How are we going to keep him safe from _Magicals_?! They can find us if we move away, follow us wherever we go! They'll kill us, kill my baby!" She nearly screamed, reaching her peak. "No, Vernon! I won't have it! No one is going to touch my Diddikins!" She collapsed into her own chair at the table, sobbing with her husband shocked, awkwardly trying to comfort his distraught wife.

"There, there, precious. Nothing is going to happen," he patted her back, soothing her. "We'll just…" he paused, at a loss of another alternative. He was not going to stand by and watch as his life was dictated to, nor was he going to let his wife feel the obvious fear of some unknown magic wielding non-sense. Her story was real enough for him. The child and letter were more proof. He just had to decide how he would make the best of his situation. "Now, now," he said, resting his hand on her back. She raised her head to see what he would say. "How about this, hmm?

"We'll keep the boy here. Obviously, nowhere near Dudley, but maybe…" he turned his head to face the hallway and the cupboard under the stairs as an idea formed. "Maybe keep him down here until we decide what to do with him. He doesn't need any extra room, being so small. Right across here is fine for now," Vernon said, picking up the settled infant, carrier and all. The boy just watched them, taking in the house as he was transferred. Vernon opened the door below the stairs and placed the basket within before slowly closing the door and turning back to his wife. "See? Out of sight, out of mind." He smiled at her and got a small uptick of her lip back. Anything was worth getting rid of her tears.

"Yes," she muttered, looking to him for all the answers. "Yes. Out of sight, out of mind," she repeated.

"That's right, dearest. No need to fret. All will go as it has, and we will be safe. Magic will not touch us. There will be no magic in this house, so help me… I'll not have any freakishness or other terror in our home. He can stay," he nodded to Petunia, "but he is only here to keep us safe from all that unnaturalness."

Petunia smiled and nodded her agreement. Yes. The boy would stay. They would be safe. Nothing would affect their perfect little life. Nothing would change. True, her sister was dead, but Lily had been dead to her for years. And no child with green eyes would change that.

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A/N

Thank you for reading! I always wondered what the hell Dumbledore was thinking, leaving Harry on the porch in the middle of the night. He's a baby! In fall! How did he survive hypothermia? Come on JKR! Also, I wanted to be a fly on the wall when the Dursleys found and then decided to keep Harry. I mean, really. If they hate magic so much, how did they decide to raise a magical child? I imagine it went something like this. No consideration for an orphan. No compassion, just selfish, negligent reasons.

Let me know if there is interest in seeing where this goes. I have several stories percolating in my brain that would spin off of this chapter into their own series. As those who follow my stories may know, I have debilitating depression and anxiety which, coupled with my father's recent death, means it may take me a while to get back to writing. This was just something to help me get back in the saddle. However, I plan to finish all stories I start! 3

Comments feed my muse, so the more you comment, the better chance that flighty bitch is going to give me some ideas! Hahaha!

If you have read any of my other stuff, you'll notice that I tend to include small details for realism that I put in the author's notes. For this chapter/story, the main issue was the currency exchange rates. The conversion of G7,000/yr = £35,000/yr = US$43,750/yr is at the rate of 1G=£5=$6.25. After searching the internet, Pottermore, and various fan speculations, I went with this simplistic conversion rate. While I also considered conversion rates at the fall of 1981, as most would agree that this chapter fits the time J.K.R. specifies as the beginning of Book 1, I thought it would be confusing later if I decide to continue this story and used a different (current) conversion rate for later years.

See you around,

Storylip


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